


garden party

by preromantics



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Brendon comes up to him fifteen minutes into the party, an apparently perilous walk that Spencer watches from where he is chilling near the garden fence, working on his first beer.</i></p><p>For hc_bingo square: fear of clowns. Yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	garden party

Brendon comes up to him fifteen minutes into the party, an apparently perilous walk that Spencer watches from where he is chilling near the garden fence, working on his first beer. Brendon trips over a dog, bangs into two girls, (one of them looks like she's going to keep him forever with a vice grip around his bicep when she helps him to his feet,) and then falls over a lawn chair.

"Are you that drunk already?" Spencer asks, because Brendon sort of falls against him, wide-eyed, and Spencer knows for a fact neither of them had pre-gamed, unless Brendon took about four shots in the time it took him (about three minutes) to join Spencer in the shower, limbs going loose under Spencer's palms. (The only time they had been apart that day; sometimes Spencer thinks he needs more friends, but sometimes Brendon falls asleep on the couch against Spencer's chest and Spencer doesn't really need anyone else, not really. Not now.)

"No, I'm not," Brendon says, close to his ear.

Spencer frowns at him, at how he's leaning against his shoulder, blinking around at the yard. "What did you take?" Spencer asks. He likes to be there when Brendon tries new things; an old habit he hasn't quite shaken, a feeling in his chest he can't get rid of every time Brendon loses himself and does too much and ends up passed out on a couch, Spencer sitting next to him with his hand in Brendon's hair, pretending to be okay when Brendon spits out incoherent words, _why did we leave / why did they leave / what now / you're my favorite, Spencer Smith._

Brendon looks at Spencer's face, eyes narrowing a little. "Nothing," he says. "Just -- hey, we should leave."

Spencer frowns, looks down at the neck of his Corona -- he shouldn't let Brendon pick their beers, he knows that, but sometimes the offer is just nice -- and how the bottle is still half full. "We just got here," he says. Brendon's hand slips down and fits against his ribs; against his side, he shifts a little, anxious, sucking in a few breaths.

"It's not a good party anyway," Brendon says, mostly into Spencer's neck, sort of like he's hiding. "I mean, who starts a party before eleven these days?"

"Are you shaking?" Spencer asks, leaning away from Brendon to stare at him. Brendon isn't -- he's moving, like he used to all the time, full of energy, but this time he's anxious, bottom lip between his teeth, chest moving up and down.

"What did you take?" Spencer asks, again, when Brendon doesn't say anything.

"Jesus, nothing," Brendon says, "I just want to go -- we can catch up on Leverage if we get home now and get in a bowl." He smiles at the end of it, but it's a strange smile.

For a split second, Spencer panics, wonders if there is someone at the party Brendon is trying to avoid, knowing instinctively who the only person is that can still get to Brendon like this. He's across the country right now, though, and Spencer knows that. It doesn't stop him from looking around at the people in the crowd, though, for a familiar head of hair and reluctant smile, a bit of anxiousness in his own throat at the thought, a stupid feeling he hates. He doesn't see Ryan, though, or anyone he knows beyond the guys throwing the party, a group of people he and Brendon and sometimes Shane go out and surf with when the weather is turning bad, because it's nice to be crazy with some company.

He does see, however, two people dressed up as clowns, one sitting in a lawn chair nursing what looks like a whole bottle of Lemon Skyy and another trying to flirt with two girls, or -- something, but Spencer doesn't think trying to get ass works very well with a pound of facepaint on and a curly multi-colored wig. (He's seen some people work the whole gigantic multi-colored pants thing before and still get laid, but that's what touring shows you, so he won't fault the clown for that.)

Brendon, though, having followed Spencer's line of sight shrinks back into Spencer's shoulder, leaning behind him and grabbing the rest of Spencer's Corona and downing it.

Spencer looks at him for a second, the way he tips his head back for the rest of the beer, closes his eyes, and remembers a night almost three years ago, the four of them sitting around the back of the bus with only one of the reading lights on, a soft yellow glow; sharing dreams and fears.

("Clowns," Brendon had said, voice sturdy even though he shuddered dramatically with it.

"You're lying," Jon had said, laughing. "Really?"

"He's lying," Ryan said, a gleam in his eyes when he looked over at Brendon. He'd poked Brendon in the shin with a sock-covered toe and Brendon had grabbed his foot, tickled the instep in a way he knew would send Ryan sprawling out on the floor. He was shouting, 'I'm not lying! Really! Fucking clowns!' while Jon held Ryan down by his arms and Spencer tickled at his sensitive ribs.)

"Clowns," Spencer says, a little hazy from over-thinking, and Brendon is behind him now, so Spencer has to turn to look at him.

"That's what I've been saying," Brendon says, "Jesus, listen much?"

Spencer sighs, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I didn't know they still --"

Brendon shushes him. "Don't talk about it," he says, "let's just leave." He holds on to Spencer's upper arm while they walk back to the car, and on the way out someone laughs at them half-drunkenly, but Spencer is so, so beyond even glaring at people for that.

In the car on the way home, Brendon laughs like he's not upset, shuffles through the visor of CDs before deciding on Queen, turning it up loud and -- the tip off to Spencer that he's still upset, not singing along. He taps his fingers on his thigh, but he's off beat, and after a red light Spencer catches his hand and rubs Brendon's knuckles, holding it against Brendon's thigh and driving one-handed the few miles left to home.


End file.
